


found my thrill

by cyberleviathan



Category: Happy Days
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Closeted Character, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Friendship, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Gen, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Manhandling, Masturbation, Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Reunion Sex, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Shotgunning, Sister-Sister Relationship, Smoking, Tattoos, Uniform Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-06-18 09:05:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15482391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberleviathan/pseuds/cyberleviathan
Summary: Various one-shots with varying ratings.Latest chapters:10: Richie and Arlene have an arrangement. (G)11: In which it’s a very good thing Richie’s friends are oblivious. (T)12: Overnight at a motel, Joanie can’t sleep. Neither can Leather. (G)13: Fellas, is it gay to listen to your roommate jerk off in the middle of the night? (M)





	1. Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richie enjoys being manhandled. Really enjoys it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime in late season 4, when Richie is 18.

For as long as Richie has been friends with Fonzie, Fonzie has been...tactile. Richie was pretty sure it was nothing personal, but it was hard not to notice that Fonzie had been doing it a lot more often recently, and almost exclusively with Richie: grabbing him by the shirt, or looping an arm around his shoulders, or cupping his face.

And it wasn’t that Richie didn’t like it. If anything, the problem is that he liked it a little too much. There was something almost thrilling whenever Richie was reminded that Fonzie could probably toss him around like a rag doll.

Richie probably could have avoided dwelling on it forever, if Fonzie hadn’t noticed it too.

They were in Fonzie’s apartment together, discussing something or other, when Fonzie grabbed Richie by the shirt and pulled him close to prove a point, until they were chest to chest and Fonzie’s fingers accidentally brushed against Richie’s neck. Richie bit his lip and closed his eyes as he waited for Fonzie to let go.

He didn’t. If anything, his grip on Richie’s shirt got tighter. Richie opened his eyes to see Fonzie looking at him, really looking at him, like he just realized something earth-shattering.

Richie didn’t have time to protest that it’s not what he thinks, that of course he didn’t like it when his best friend pushes him around, because that was when Fonzie practically lifted Richie off the ground. Richie’s heart practically jumped into his throat as Fonzie pulled him close enough that their foreheads are touching.

And then Fonzie stopped.

He looked up so he could look Richie in the eye, and just looked at him, gauging Richie’s reaction. Richie was pretty sure he was blushing, because his face felt like it was burning.

“You’re enjoying this.”

It sounded less like an accusation and more like a question. It still made Richie squirm a little, because there was no way Fonzie hadn’t already noticed how much Richie was enjoying this.

He nodded without saying anything, which seemed like the safest option.

“Do you want me to let go?”

“No,” Richie responded before thinking it through. The sensible thing to do would have been to stop, right then, before they did something that could ruin their friendship forever. Fonzie is a part of Richie’s life, a part of his family, and if this went wrong, it would have made living in the same area really, really awkward.

It was just hard to remember that when Fonzie was gripping Richie like that.

Fonzie seemed to be considering something. “If you change your mind, anytime you want me to stop, say so.”

Richie nodded, unable to stop himself from grinning ear to ear as he admitted “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

Fonzie kept one hand tight around Richie’s shirt and moved his other hand up to cup Richie’s face, holding it in place as he pressed their lips together. He was gentle at first, like he was trying to get a feel for Richie and what he liked. He swiped his tongue against Richie’s upper lip, and Richie opened his mouth to let him continue. He sucked at Richie’s bottom lip and used a bit of teeth, and Richie made an embarrassingly desperate noise. Fonzie pulled away, and it took all of Richie’s self-control to stand up straight and not melt into him.

He didn’t have to worry about it for long, because then Fonzie was dragging him towards the couch. He pushed Richie down and straddled him, all without taking his hands off of Richie.

He leaned against Richie, pinning him to the couch, then moved his leg between Richie’s. Richie groaned at the pressure and rubbed against Fonzie’s leg, trying to relieve the tension building up in his groin.

Fonzie paused, and for a moment Richie was terrified that he had done something wrong. The fear dissipated as quickly as it came, because then Fonzie knelt in front of Richie and fiddled with his fly, pulling his erection out and running a hand over it.

He sat back on his heels and looked Richie over, with an expression he usually reserves for particularly difficult carburetors. Like he wants to take Richie apart and put him back together.

The thought probably shouldn’t have made Richie as hot as it did.

It wasn’t just that, of course; it was also the way Fonzie was breathing more raggedly, the way his eyes were heavily lidded, the way the crotch of his jeans were visibly tenting. It was barely noticeable (aside from the crotch) - Richie probably only noticed because he’s known Fonzie this long - but it was thrilling to know that Richie could do something to rattle Fonzie at all.

Fonzie moved back up onto Richie and pinned his hands over his head, against the wall behind the couch. Richie took the hint and kept his hands there as Fonzie dragged his hands down Richie’s arms and abdomen. He stopped to grip Richie’s hips and guide them to thrust against Fonzie, and it was as much the feel of Fonzie’s callused hands as it was the steady friction that made Richie’s eyes roll back into his head.

Fonzie leaned over to kiss him again. It was all too much, the friction and the grip and the heat of Fonzie’s mouth. Richie felt as if he was being swallowed whole, and that was his last coherent thought before his vision went white.

He vaguely took notice of Fonzie continuing to thrust against him until his entire body seized up and he collapsed on top of Richie.

They laid tangled up together, too exhausted to do anything else. Eventually, Fonzie peeled himself off of Richie and walked towards the sink and back. He knelt in front of Richie and began wiping away the sticky white liquid between his thighs. Richie wasn’t sure how much of it was his and how much of it was Fonzie’s.

There was a patch of white on one of the legs of Fonzie’s jeans. It’ll probably end up staining, Richie thought, feeling embarrassed and regretful and a little proud all at once.

“Sorry about your pants,” he blurted out.

Fonzie chuckled. “I just screwed your brains out, and you’re talking about pants.”

He finished cleaning up, and Richie zipped himself back up as Fonzie stood, looking at Richie in an almost melancholy manner.

Quietly, Richie asked “Is this the part where I leave?”

Fonzie shrugged and avoided looking Richie in the eye. “If you want to.”

Richie reached out and took Fonzie’s hand in his, threading their fingers together.


	2. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Fonzie share a moment and a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set pre-“Fonzie Drops In.”
> 
> Written before I had seen "Smoking Ain't Cool," and therefore wasn't aware of Fonzie's intense anti-smoking views. Whoops.
> 
> Then again, in “Fonzie Drops In,” Fonzie did mention smoking in the boys’ room as a student, so I stand by this.

Richie is leaving Arnold’s when he spots Fonzie against the wall. He’s easy to see; it’s already dark out, and his face is lit up by a tiny glow.

Curious, Richie walks up to him, until he’s close enough to see that Fonzie is smoking a cigarette.

Richie feels almost embarrassed, like he’s intruding on something private. Then Fonz turns his head and nods at Richie in acknowledgement, and Richie actually does feel embarrassed.

Not wanting to leave without saying something, Richie leans next to him against the wall as casually as he can.

“Can I bum a smoke?”

The words feel awkward coming from him. He’s not even sure he’s using them the right way. Fonzie can probably tell just by looking at him that he’s never done this before, and he’s going to tell Richie to get lost.

That doesn’t happen. Instead, Fonzie looks at Richie, amused and almost indulgent and says “This was my last one.”

Richie nods and almost leaves, only for Fonzie to take him by the wrist and pull him closer, until their lips are almost touching. He puckers up, and Richie unconsciously mimics the action.

The next thing Richie knows, a stream of smoke is being directly blown into his mouth. Richie immediately coughs it out, eyes tearing up.

He almost stumbles back, but Fonzie keeps him steady with a hand against his chest until Richie can breathe again.

Fonzie pulls back and takes another drag of his cigarette, before leaning forward and blowing down Richie’s throat.

This time, Richie is ready, and it goes down considerably more easily.

They fall into a comfortable give-and-take after that: the drag of the cigarette, the almost-touching, the exchange of smoke and breath.

But eventually, the cigarette goes out, leaving them alone in the dark. Fonzie gets off the wall and swaggers towards his bike, tossing the butt in the trash and not looking back.  
Richie watches him get on his bike and drive off, with a faint ache in his chest that he tells himself is just his lungs.


	3. Cuddle Up a Little Closer (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The apartment building’s heater is broken again, and it’s either share a bed or freeze to death.
> 
> Ralph’s starting to wish he’d picked freezing to death.
> 
> (Set during season 6.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-"Joanie's First Kiss."

It wasn’t the first time the heater had broken, but the last time had been in the middle of summer, when all they had to worry about were showers that were too cold, and not, say, potentially freezing to death.

Sharing a bed seemed like a good idea when Potsie suggested it, which meant that it rapidly went downhill almost immediately. In this case, it was when Potsie almost kicked Ralph out of the bed.

Ralph narrowly avoided falling face-first on the floor, rolling away from the edge and ending up nestled next to Potsie.

“Stop moving.” Ralph pulled at the covers.

“I’m just trying to get comfy,” Potsie protested, pulling back.

“Get comfy without giving me a concussion. And quit hogging the covers.”

Potsie let go of the covers and shifted some more, but Ralph held his ground. This was his bed, after all. It meant that Potsie just ended up pressed closer to him, but at least this way he couldn’t steal the covers and leave Ralph to die of hypothermia.

Ralph rolled over and ended up half-lying on Potsie to keep him from moving again. It was surprisingly cozy, all things considered.

“I think your bed is lumpy,” Potsie said, which was hilarious coming from the guy who slept on a mattress with a broken spring.

“Your head is lumpy,” Ralph muttered.

“You’re a lump,” Potsie retorted as he leaned his head against Ralph’s shoulder. “But at least you’re a warm lump.”


	4. The Tattoo (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie finally gets to see Fonzie's tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the revelation that Fonzie has a tattoo in “Fonzie Drops In.” Set sometime in season 4, so Richie is 18.

It’s shortly after graduation that they start...not dating, exactly. It’s more or less what they were doing before, only now they neck in Fonzie’s office from time to time.

They’re not in Fonzie’s office right now, and Richie is very glad about that; he can’t really imagine doing this in the men’s room at Arnold’s.

He’s lying down on the couch in Fonzie’s apartment, Fonzie on top of him and kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. Richie’s got his arm around Fonzie’s neck, keeping him close even as Richie has to stop just long enough to catch his breath.

He notices how Fonzie’s shirt has ridden up, not by much, just enough to expose a sliver of bare skin and a small splash of color barely visible on his hip.

It takes a second for it to register, and for Richie to realize that that’s a tattoo. Fonzie’s tattoo. The one he mentioned almost a year ago and hasn’t brought up since.

Richie has maybe thought about the tattoo more than he feels comfortable admitting, even to himself. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time and a lot of effort to stop thinking about it every time he saw Fonzie. He didn’t wonder where exactly the tattoo was, or what it looked like. If it meant anything in particular. If he’s shown it to a lot of girls. If he’s shown it to any guys. If he’d show it to Richie if Richie asked.

The tattoo itself is smaller than Richie had expected, though he can’t quite make it out when it’s mostly hidden by the waist of Fonzie’s jeans.

Fonzie notices that Richie has frozen up, and he shifts so he’s next to Richie instead of on top of him.

“You want to go?”

“No,” Richie says without taking his eyes off what he can see of the tattoo. “Did it hurt? When you got it, I mean.”

Fonzie follows Richie’s gaze, glancing down at the tattoo, then back at Richie. “Course it hurt,” he replies with a shrug.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Course not.”

Richie unconsciously licks his lips. His mouth feels dry all of a sudden. “Can I - can I see it?”

Fonzie sits up and starts fiddling with his jeans. There’s something a little overly casual about it, like he’s trying to prove that this isn’t a big deal for him. Or Richie is just projecting.

He slips them down slightly, exposing his hip. The tattoo is fully visible: it’s a pigeon, wings spread out in mid-flight.

Richie wonders if it’s as smooth as it looks, if the inked skin feels any different from uninked skin. Less warm, maybe.

“Can I touch it?” he asks.

Fonzie’s eyebrows raise a little in surprise, but he shrugs in response. “Go ahead.”

Richie shifts a little, so he’s leaning on one arm. With his free hand, he brushes his fingertips against the tattoo, carefully tracing the silhouette of the ink. He doesn’t miss how Fonzie’s breath very, very slightly hitches.

Once he’s finished outlining it, he settles his thumb against it, his knuckles resting against the bare skin just above it, as he asks “When did you get it?”

Fonzie considers for a moment, then pronounces “ _On the Waterfront_. I’d just seen it. You could say I was inspired.”

Richie cracks a smile, sneaking a glance at Fonzie’s face before he looks back at the tattoo. Fonzie is looking at Richie intently, almost curiously, like he’s waiting to see how Richie will react to this.

Richie absentmindedly strokes the skin covered by the tattoo with his thumb as he goes over dates in his head.

“So - that would’ve been after you dropped out, right?”

“I guess so.”

“So - you never showed it to any of the girls at school?”

“Not when I was going there.”

Richie bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. But Fonzie can apparently tell he’s amused, because he lightly elbows Richie and says “Something funny, red?”

“Were you - were you trying to impress me? When you mentioned showing it to girls at school?”

Fonzie’s eyes widen for a split second. “You’ve got a real high opinion of yourself, Cunningham.”

Richie lies back and props himself up on his elbows. Sadly, it means he has to let go of Fonzie’s hip. “You didn’t have to try and impress me, you know.”

He half-expects Fonzie to protest that he wasn’t trying to impress Richie. But instead Fonzie just lies back down on Richie and mutters “Right, because I lie awake at night hoping you’re impressed by me,” before kissing Richie again.


	5. I'll Walk Alone (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Jenny is feeling particularly honest, she might admit (to herself, if no one else) that she doesn’t have that many friends outside of Joanie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be straightforward Joanie/Jenny, and instead it became this kind of sad character study.
> 
> Set over seasons 4 through 10.

If Jenny is feeling particularly honest, she might admit (to herself, if no one else) that she doesn’t have that many friends outside of Joanie.

It wasn’t always that way. There was a time when Jenny was the coolest girl in school. She knew the right way to walk, she knew how to kiss with tongue, she knew all the ways to get past Jefferson High’s dress code.

And okay, maybe she didn’t have any direct experience, or indirect experience, and maybe most of what Jenny does know is pieced together from her mom’s magazines and movies she’s not supposed to have seen, but it’s worth it just to have people know her name.

The other girls eventually start to wise up. First Annie Nichols stops talking to her halfway through sophomore year, and Lucy Taylor follows suit a week later. Margaret Jacobson and Linda Parker start avoiding her a week before summer starts. Kathy O’Reilly - well, she moved to Madison, but before that she kept rolling her eyes every time Jenny opened her mouth.

By the time junior year rolls around, Jenny is functionally a nobody.

Except for one person: Joanie Cunningham.

Jenny is very aware that Joanie doesn’t have to stick around. She’s the kind of girl that everyone likes, even the people who say they don’t like her. She’s witty and tough and cute and everything she does seems so effortless. Joanie could do better than Jenny.

Jenny doesn’t ever bring it up. If Joanie is going to wake up one day and realize she doesn’t need Jenny, that Jenny is the one who needs her, Jenny’s not going to speed up that process.

She still has her pride, though. She’s never going to admit this out loud to Joanie. In fact, when Joanie invites her to her sixteenth birthday party, Jenny makes up a story about going out of town to a Crystals concert with some older college friends.

Joanie looks genuinely hurt, but she smiles and tells Jenny to have a good time anyway.

Jenny spends the day of the party hiding in her room, staring at the wall and wondering if Joanie is having a great time without her.

——

Senior year is when things finally start to go wrong, because Joanie gets her first steady boyfriend, and suddenly Jenny is the third wheel.

Jenny maybe overcompensates in response. If she’s going to be the third wheel half the time, at least she can try and be with Joanie when Chachi isn’t there. Sometimes it means Jenny has to follow Joanie home, and she has to ignore how annoyed Mr. Cunningham is to have her around. He likes her better than Potsie, at least.

But what worries Jenny is that Joanie starts getting annoyed by her. She doesn't say anything, but she's obviously thinking it every time Jenny enlists her help to join a club or impress a boy. Any day now, Joanie is going to tell Jenny to get lost.

——

Joanie doesn’t. Instead, she moves to Chicago with Chachi to start a band. Jenny can’t decide if that’s better or worse than Joanie staying in Milwaukee and just avoiding her.  
Either way, Jenny is alone now. Or she was, until Joanie’s cousin from Texas shows up to live with the Cunninghams.

KC isn’t much like Joanie. She’s so wide-eyed and innocent that she reminds Jenny of a cartoon rodent more than anything. A squirrel, maybe.

She doesn’t have any friends. Just like Jenny.

But unlike Jenny, she doesn’t know how to act or talk to boys or anything like that. So really, she needs Jenny more than Jenny needs her.

Jenny has always considered herself the altruistic sort.


	6. And Then She Kissed Me (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joanie has yet to have her first kiss. Jenny offers to help her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during “Joanie’s First Kiss.”

“David O’Dooley,” Jenny repeated for the seventh time in a row, half-bouncing as she sat on her bed. “David O’Dooley.”

Joanie just nodded along from her spot next to Jenny. Ever since she had made the date with David, she had felt excited and nervous, sometimes one more than the other, but always both at the same time. It was a little exhausting, and part of Joanie just wanted it to happen just so it would be over already.

“You’re so lucky,” Jenny continued. “I mean, David’s not really my type, but he’s perfect for you!”

“You don’t think he’s gonna...expect anything, do you?” Joanie asked. “Like - what if he wants to kiss me?”

Jenny blinked rapidly. “Then you let him.”

“I haven’t kissed anyone before,” Joanie said, her voice dropping into a whisper despite nobody else being in Jenny’s room. “What if he’s disappointed?”

Jenny hmmm-ed and looked up at the ceiling. After a moment of faux-contemplation, she offered “You could always practice.” She didn’t look at Joanie as she spoke.

“With who?” Joanie asked, despite already suspecting the answer.

“Well, obviously you can’t practice with a boy. And your date with David is tomorrow, so you’re on short notice.” Jenny turned back towards Joanie, grinning brightly. “But lucky for you, I’m willing to show you the ropes.”

Joanie considered it. “It wouldn’t really count, would it?”

“No,” Jenny said quickly. “Of course not. If it’s not with a boy it doesn’t count.”

Joanie waited for a second - she didn’t want to look too eager or anything - before she said “Okay.”

Jenny turned so she was facing Joanie. “Here. I’ll be the boy.”

“Why are you the boy?” Joanie asked as she sat up.

“Fine,” Jenny said with a roll of her eyes. “Then you can be the boy.”

“Why do either of us have to be the boy?”

“Because that’s how it works. You have to have someone to do the kissing and someone who gets kissed.”

“So the girl doesn’t do anything?”

“Of course she does,” Jenny scoffs. “She kisses back.”

“But the boy is the one who starts it?”

“Yes,” Jenny said, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “Yes, that’s exactly it. You’re catching on!”

She took Joanie by the hands. “So, boy or girl?”

“If I’m practicing for David, I guess I should be the girl.”

Jenny nodded in agreement. “Alright. So. Start by closing your eyes.”

Joanie did just that. And then after almost thirty seconds of nothing, she opened them again.

Jenny was still there, and she hadn’t let go of Joanie’s hands, but she hadn’t moved at all. Once Joanie opened her eyes though, she made a huffy little noise.

“No peeking,” Jenny scolded. “Are you going to peek when David is about to kiss you?”

“I think David isn’t going to leave me standing there for half a minute.”

“He might!” protested Jenny. “Some guys need time to, you know, get ready.”

“Right as we’re about to kiss?”

“Yes! He might have to chew some gum, or - or put some cologne on.”

“What does cologne have to do with kissing?”

“Oh, Joanie,” Jenny said, in that tone of voice that said ‘I’ve seen _Peyton Place_ and you haven’t.’ “Everything.”

“You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Oh? And which of us has actually kissed someone?”

Joanie didn’t think. She just moved forward before Jenny could react and pressed their lips together.

It lasted less than a second, just long enough for Joanie to register softness and warmth and the perfume Jenny had gotten on sale a week ago and still hadn’t managed to entirely lose the smell of.

She pulled away, her face red and Jenny’s eyes the size of dinner plates.

Neither of them spoke, until Jenny weakly said “David won’t be disappointed.”


	7. Slippin' and Slidin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richie returns from the army, Fonzie discovers a new kink, and time is of the essence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during “Welcome Home Part 1.”
> 
> Is Richie married to Lori Beth here? If so, is she aware of what’s going on and cool with it, or is this a case of infidelity? Decide for yourself! Death of the author!

It takes a while for them to get alone - everyone wants to catch up with Richie and Ralph again - but it’s so, so worth it once Fonzie is able to kiss Richie for the first time in three years. Richie feels the same way, based on how he practically tackles Fonzie as soon as they’re up in his room.

If Richie hadn’t done it, Fonzie probably would have. Richie looks different, and it’s not just the mustache - it’s how he carries himself, it’s how happy he is to be back, it’s -

Maybe it’s the uniform. Just a little.

Had Richie’s posture always been this good, or his shoulders this broad? It seems like something Fonzie would have noticed before. Should have noticed before.

He doesn’t quite look like he fits here in his old room, which hasn’t changed much while Richie’s been gone. But Fonzie doesn’t dwell on that, it’s not as important as the simple fact that Richie is here.

“You could’ve waited,” Richie murmurs against Fonzie when they have to stop to breathe. He leans against the wall, and Fonzie doesn’t really have a response to that, other than licking his lips and saying “You look good. And I missed you.”

Richie’s eyebrows raise. Then he smiles, face flushed, and he lightly tugs at his uniform collar.

“You know, I might keep this on.”

Fonzie’s appreciation must show on his face, because Richie laughs a little before pulling him into another kiss, shorter than before.

“We don’t have much time,” Richie says. “Everyone’s going to wonder where we are.”

He has a point. As much as Fonzie wants to just take Richie apart right now, there’ll be time for that later.

He takes his hand away from Richie’s hip and lightly squeezes his thigh. Richie grins and nods.

Fonzie quickly kisses him again before stepping away to open Richie’s bedstand’s drawer. He pulls out a small jar of Vaseline, and when he turns back around, Richie’s pants are already down around his ankles.

Fonzie kneels in front of him as he opens the jar, feeling borderline worshipful in this moment. He slicks up his fingers before he dips them between Richie’s legs, readying him, faster than he would normally. Normally he’d savor the feel of Richie’s inner thighs and the way Richie is trembling with anticipation, and that heavy-lidded expression he gets as he watches Fonzie prepare him.

Once he’s sure Richie’s ready, Fonzie lightly presses a kiss against the inside of his thigh before standing up.

Fonzie sheds his jacket, tossing it (carefully) over Richie’s bed, before he undoes his own jeans and pushes them down past his hips. He grips Richie by the hips.

Richie can’t really separate his legs like this, but he parts his thighs just enough that Fonzie’s cock can slip through, into slippery tight heat.

Fonzie leans entirely against Richie and grips his hips for leverage as he starts with quick thrusts, and Richie wraps his arms around Fonzie’s waist, keeping him close. Richie’s own arousal is pinned between his and Fonzie’s stomachs, and with every move Fonzie makes it shifts, and Fonzie can feel it through the cloth of his shirt.

Richie keeps making these _noises_ as Fonzie fucks him, deep and throaty and needy, and if Fonzie could think straight he might wonder if Richie missed this as much as he did while Richie’s been gone.

Neither of them last very long, not when they’re this keyed up and desperate. Fonzie manages to wait until Richie finishes. He almost forgot how beautiful Richie is in the moment right as he climaxes.

There’s not much time to savor the afterglow, and Fonzie hesitantly lets go of him, stepping back so Richie can get off the wall.

Richie is a mess. Spunk is dripping from his wrinkled jacket, and his eyes are hazy and unfocused, and his mustache is half matted against his face.

He seems aware of it, though, because he chuckles and starts to unbutton as he approaches his dresser.

“You go back down,” he says to Fonzie. “I have to change.”

“You sure?” Fonzie leans against the door. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Out,” Richie says, laughing, and Fonzie obeys, grinning like a lovestruck idiot.


	8. Pinky & Leather: Part 1 (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leather Tuscadero names herself - with a little help from her sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set pre-series.
> 
> Theories about ages:  
> I’m assuming Pinky is the same age as Fonzie, who, assuming he’s the same age as Laverne and Shirley, who graduated in 1956, would make him 17 or 18 in 1956 and therefore born in 1938 or 1939. I went with 1938 (incidentally, this would make him two years older than Richie).  
> Leather is said to be 18 in her introductory two-parter, which I think makes her a year younger than Richie and three years younger than Pinky.

When Kimberly is six, she finds out Pinky’s real name is Carol. Their mother is scolding Pinky for getting into a fight with a boy at school and breaking his nose, and she calls Pinky Carol Anne Tuscadero, and says she raised Pinky better than that.

Pinky doesn’t say anything in response, she just balls her hands into fists and lets their mother yell at her. When Mama Tuscadero is angry, she’s a steamroller, and the best thing to do is just let her run out of gas on her own, or risk getting crushed.

So Pinky doesn’t say anything, and neither does Kimberly, not until that night when they’re both in bed and Kimberly asks about it.

“I like Pinky better than Carol” is her sister’s first answer. Then she pauses, and says “I like being Pinky better than being Carol.”

Kimberly doesn’t say anything, because then Pinky falls asleep, but she understands.

“Kimberly” is a big, heavy, unwieldy name. It doesn’t fit her at all. The obvious nickname “Kim” is too short and sharp and feels too small and tight on her.

And now she’s found out that there are other options. She doesn’t have to be Kimberly or Kim. She can choose something else, someone else.

It takes her a while to pick one. She wants a name she can wear for the rest of her life, not something she’ll outgrow in a year or so, like how Dorothy d’Angelo used to be Dottie and now she gets sad if anyone calls her that.

——

Kimberly is seven, and Pinky is nine and has just discovered motorcycles. She sneaks off to watch people race them, or to the garage in downtown Sheboygan to watch them get fixed, or to the drugstore to get old magazines when they throw out the ones they didn’t sell. Most of the magazines are about movie stars or cars, but Pinky points out the ones that are about motorcycles or have pictures of people on motorcycles. She lets Kimberly read them, sometimes, but only when Pinky is watching to make sure Kimberly doesn’t tear any of the pages.

One day, Pinky shows her a picture of a man on a bike. His jacket is shiny like his bike seat, not soft and fuzzy like jackets are supposed to be.

“It’s leather,” Pinky explains. “You gotta wear leather on a bike, ‘cause if you crash or fall off, it’ll absorb the damage. It’s safety gear.”

“Like helmets?”

“Yeah, like helmets. Only better, because it’s cool.”

Something about the way Pinky says it makes cool sound special. It’s powerful, and mysterious, and maybe the only way to be. You’re cool or you’re nothing.

Kimberly nods. “Yeah. Cool.”

——

Kimberly likes the way “leather” sounds. It’s shorter than Kimberly and longer than Kim. It doesn’t have that heavy k in the front that makes her name feel awkward and metallic no matter what. It’s the kind of word you can whisper like a secret or shout loud enough that everyone can hear it.

But she doesn’t really think about it much until she’s nine. The church they go to is having their annual clothing drive, and the Tuscaderos visit to see if there’s anything that’ll fit Pinky and Kimberly. They’re not supposed to tell anyone they do this, because it’s only until Mr. Tuscadero gets another job.

Pinky has first dibs on anything pink, which Kimberly accepts as only fair because Pinky is the oldest, and it’s not like Kimberly particularly likes pink, anyway.

Only one piece of clothing catches Kimberly’s attention: a leather jacket. It belonged to someone bigger and older than her, but it doesn’t feel intimidating in its bigness. It feels like something she could grow into, something she’d want to grow into.

And she gets it, all of a sudden, how leather can be safety gear, because she feels safe now - not just safe, but powerful. Special. Cool. Leather isn’t just a word, it’s a way of life.

And suddenly it hits her.

——

She tries out the name at home in private. Leather. Leather Tuscadero. Miss Leather Tuscadero - okay, not that one. She recites it to herself so much that it starts to lose all meaning.

She doesn’t tell other people to call her Leather at first. She wants the first time she introduces herself to be special. Pinky picks up on that, even though Leather doesn’t tell her at first, and one day she invites Leather to come watch a drag race with her.

She gets to meet Pinky’s friends, who are all older than her and two of them are older than Pinky, but none of them make her feel like she doesn’t belong here.

“This is my sister,” Pinky says, and she looks at her and nods at her.

She clears her throat and says “I’m Leather Tuscadero.”

It fits like a glove.


	9. Pinky & Leather: Part 2 (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pinky and Leather separate, reunite, and separate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice that parts of this contradict things established in “Fonzie and Leather Tuscadero Part 1.” That is because when I wrote it, I had only seen the episode once a while ago and had forgotten chunks of it. Whoops.

And then one day Pinky is just gone.

Leather comes home from school, and her parents are screaming at each other. It’s impossible to make out what, but her mother screams something about Carol and her father shouts something about runaways and Leather puts two and two together and cries out “Pinky’s gone?!”

Her parents finally notice her standing there. They exchange a look before her father stomps off.

Her mother puts a hand on her shoulder that’s probably meant to be comforting, but any touches from her mother are so few and far between that it just serves as a reminder of how wrong everything is right now.

——

They get letters from Pinky, now and then. Leather gets them, actually, but their parents always confiscate them, and Leather has to steal them back before they get burned or ripped up or something. They’re the highlight of Leather’s day whenever she gets them; everything else is gray and boring, school and church and home, and Leather hates it.

When Leather is fourteen, she gets a letter from Milwaukee, which isn’t too far from Sheboygan. It’s not close, really, but compared to places like California and Texas and Nevada it’s practically right next door.

Her father keeps their savings in an old sock hidden in a wall. There’s plenty there for Leather’s bus fare.

——

It takes the better part of a day for Leather to get to Milwaukee, and once she gets there she almost immediately gets lost. But she keeps her cool, and after a lot of walking around, she manages to find the street Pinky is living on.

The return address turns out to be an apartment building, and Leather spends the rest of the morning going to every door, knocking on it, and asking if Pinky Tuscadero is there.

She doesn’t get anywhere, not until she gets to the second floor and a dark-haired ducktailed guy in a white t-shirt and jeans answers “Who wants to know?”

Leather pulls herself up to her full height - the guy isn’t that much taller than her - and replies “Her sister does.”

He doesn’t look like he believes her.

Leather pulls the letter out of the pocket of her jacket. “I have a letter from her, see?”

The guy snatches it out of Leather’s hand and looks it over, maybe to see if it’s a forgery or something. After a few seconds, he hands it back to Leather and says “She’s not here.”

Leather’s shoulders slump. Right as she’s about to turn and walk away, he adds “She’s out right now. She’s comin’ back soon.”

Leather looks up, glee and hope and nervousness and terror mingling in the pit of her stomach. She’s not sure if she wants to jump for joy or throw up.

“When?”

He shrugs. “Coupla hours? Pinky sets her own time.”

“Can - can I come inside and wait for her there?”

The guy glances behind him, then turns back and says “It’s a free country.”

——

Leather sits on their couch - old, slightly shabby, magenta - and stays there for what feels like hours. The most she moves is to glance at the guy every so often. (He doesn’t look at her at all.)

“Are you Pinky’s boyfriend?” she asks at one point.

“Why d'you ask?”

“Well, you’re living together -“

“So you think I’m her boyfriend?”

“Well, yeah -“

The guy glares at her, and she stops talking, right as the door opens and a familiar voice exclaims “Leather?”

Leather leaps off the couch and tackle-hugs Pinky. Pinky doesn’t react at first, then she’s hugging Leather back so hard she’s lifting Leather off the ground. Pinky smells like motor oil and a little bit of perfume and home.

She puts Leather down and lets go of her, and Leather doesn’t even care that she’s crying a little.

“You’ve gotten so tall! Hey, Fonzie, come over here - I think Leather’s taller than you!”

Leather glances over at the guy, who isn’t budging from his spot near the radio. He does sort of look like a Fonzie, if Leather had to guess what a Fonzie looked like.

Pinky rolls her eyes at him. Then she hugs Leather again, shorter this time because she stops to ask “Did Mom and Dad send you?”

Leather shakes her head. “They don’t even know I’m here. And they never saw your last letter, so they don’t know you’re here, either. They’re never gonna find us.”

Pinky finger-guns at her with her free hand. “Attagirl!”

——

“I can sleep on the couch,” Leather offers as it gets darker outside.

Pinky scoffs. “A couch isn’t good enough for Pinky Tuscadero’s sister. You can share my bed. Just like when we were kids! Fonzie can sleep on the couch.”

“You and Fonzie share a bed?” Leather asks, and she can’t stop a hint of judgement from creeping into her voice.

Pinky’s face turns a little red. “It’s a big bed,” she says. “Look, I’m not staying in Milwaukee long, okay? I’m just here for a couple of weeks, and Fonzie’s place is cheaper than a hotel.”

Leather’s heart plunges as soon as she’s reminded this is only temporary. She doesn’t show it, though, she has to be cool about it.

“Where are you going next?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Pinky says as she leans in conspiratorially. “But I might be headed to Chicago. There’s a stunt show that needs a new biker.”

“Would - would a new biker need a pit crew or something?”

Pinky’s confused for a split second, then surprised.

“I could - I could help you!” Leather continues. “I could - I could polish your bike, and iron your costume, and - and all sorts of things!”

“Leather,” Pinky says.

“And I don’t know much about bikes or anything but I could learn, I swear I could!”

Pinky smiles, a little thinly, and pats Leather on the shoulder. “C’mon. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

——

They settle into a routine over the following week. Pinky doesn’t go to school, and neither does Fonzie. They both work as mechanics, but not at the same garage. Leather makes herself useful while they’re gone, tidying up and making dinner and while she’s no Betty Crocker, she does a pretty okay job. It’s not Leather’s favorite thing in the world, but she’ll put on the radio or one of Fonzie’s two records (both Elvis Presley) and sing along as she works.

When Pinky gets back from work, she works on her bike, the one she proudly tells Leather she bought with her own money and painted pink herself, with some help from Fonzie.  
She lets Leather watch as she tinkers. Once, she even lets Leather touch the bike, to tighten the spokes. Leather is more careful than usual, half-convinced she’s going to damage the wheels somehow even as Pinky talks her through it.

Leather is watching Pinky with her bike one day when Pinky says, without warning and without stopping work, “I’ve been thinkin’ - maybe you should be in school.”

“You don’t go to school,” Leather replies, genuinely confused. “Fonzie doesn’t go to school.”

“That’s different.”

She probably means because she and Fonzie have jobs.

“I can get a job,” Leather offers. “Or I can keep helping out in the apartment until we go to Chicago.”

Pinky takes a smaller wrench from the toolbox. “Mom and Dad are probably worried sick about you.”

“They were worried sick about you when you left,” Leather says. “They got over it.”

“As far as they know, you could be dead. You should’ve left a note or something.”

“You didn’t leave a note when you left,” Leather retorts.

Pinky turns around so she’s looking Leather in the eye.

“I made a mistake, okay? If I did the same thing over again, I’d tell Mom and Dad what I was gonna do.”

“But you’d still leave,” Leather says, and she can’t stop the hard, uncomfortable edge in her voice. She probably wouldn’t if she could, to tell the truth.

Pinky doesn’t say anything. She turns back to her bike and gets back to work.

——

It all comes crashing down by the end of the week, when Leather is interrupted from washing dishes by the sound of loud, arrhythmic knocking on the door that just gets louder as she goes to open it.

It’s her and Pinky’s parents. Pinky is there too, just off to the side of them, and so is Fonzie, hanging back and watching disinterestedly.

Neither of her parents say anything, they just glare at her. Leather speaks without thinking, anything to break the awful, awful silence. “How’d you find us?”

Her father keeps glaring at her, while her mother looks at Pinky. Pinky doesn’t look at her back.

The realization hits Leather like a punch to the stomach. “You - you called them? Why would you do that?”

“Leather,” Pinky says right as their mother says “We’re going home, Kimberly.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Leather snaps. “I’m going to Chicago with Pinky!”

The previously unflappable Fonzie looks rattled, and he repeats “Chicago?” as Leather’s father says “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

Leather runs past them, pushing her way past her father and wrenching her arm away when he tries to grab her. She runs down the stairs and outside.

Pinky’s bike, bright pink in the darkness, is parked there, and Leather’s first instinct is to take it and flee, because it would serve Pinky right for doing this, for running away and leaving Leather alone and then doing this when Leather found her. But she squashes it as soon as she thinks of it - Pinky loves that bike like it’s a part of her, and Leather’s not ready to hurt Pinky like that, not really.

She takes Fonzie’s bike instead.

——

Leather doesn’t stop driving, until she realizes there’s a police car behind her.

As much as she wants to keep going, she’s also fully aware that she only knows the basics when it comes to driving, and if she goes any faster she’s terrified she’ll crash.

On top of that, the anger she felt earlier had faded, and now she just felt sad, sad and tired, and as she pulls over on the side of the road it’s all she can do to stop herself from breaking down and crying.

As the cops drag her towards their car, Leather takes comfort in the fact that even if she’s not going with Pinky, at least she won’t be going back to her parents.

——

There aren’t many reform schools for girls in Wisconsin, so Leather gets sent to one in Missouri.

It’s not all bad - the other girls are pretty cool, and nicer than Leather would have expected. And the nuns are pretty okay, as far as nuns go. Leather’s favorite is Sister Mary Cecilia, who teaches music class and lets Leather play guitar in the classroom when she has free time. She doesn’t even mind when Leather plays Elvis instead of hymns.

There’s a lot to focus on that isn’t Pinky, that isn’t about how the last time Pinky saw her, Leather was getting dragged away by the police. One particularly miserable night, when Leather is staring at the ceiling and thinking about how she would give anything to see Pinky again and apologize, Leather decided once and for all she would make things right. As soon as she got out, she would prove to everyone, to Pinky, that she wasn’t a scared, confused kid anymore.

After graduating, she starts playing wherever she can. Sheboygan doesn’t have a lot of venues for a reform school graduate with no experience, but it does have a lot of other people who want out. Leather meets Gertrude Parker when she’s busking outside a park. They get to talking about music, and Elvis, and how he wouldn’t sound half as good without the Jordanaires, and within ten minutes Leather tells her she’s the coolest Gertrude she’s ever met.

The next day, Gertrude brings her friend Roberta O’Leary. They used to be in choir together, and they both sound good, really good. Gertrude and Roberta both want the same things as Leather, fame and freedom and excitement.

Where they needed to start was Leather’s idea.

First stop touring for Leather Tuscadero and the Suedes: Milwaukee.


	10. Yearning (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Arlene have an arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set before and during “Hardware Jungle” and “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.”
> 
> Mary Ellen Lister was mentioned in “Because She’s There” as the reason why Richie no longer goes on blind dates.
> 
> Gloria was mentioned in “Hardware Jungle” as Arlene’s best friend. Trudy claimed to be Arlene’s best friend in “Breaking Up is Hard to Do.”
> 
> Potsie’s brother was mentioned in “Love and the Happy Days” and then never again.

Richie knew Arlene Holder before, but in a nebulous sense. They had a class together freshman year, but never really talked to each other until they’re paired together for a history project in junior year.

They mostly talk about the project at first. They’re both honors students, so they’re both invested in doing well on this.

The day before the project is due, when they’re going over it one last time at the library, Richie is jittery and awkward all day. Arlene keeps asking him what’s wrong, and Richie evades the question until he can’t anymore. He ends up telling her the whole story: how Potsie had pushed him into a blind date with Mary Ellen Lister, how they hadn’t had anything in common, how the whole night neither of them had had anything to say to each other. How Richie wishes he could have just said no when Potsie had told him he was setting Richie up on a blind date.

Arlene listens raptly and wide-eyed throughout the whole thing. When Richie finishes, she says “I know how you feel. Trudy and Gloria keep trying to set me up with every unattached boy they meet.”

She chuckles a little. It sounds fake, not like the complete seriousness she had when she was talking before that.

“Maybe we should just date each other,” Richie suggests, half as a joke.

Arlene blinks rapidly in surprise before she casts her eyes down like she’s thinking about it.

“Do you like monster movies?” she asks, almost shyly.

Richie nods and swallows, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable lump in his throat. “Some of them.”

——

So they start dating. Richie drives Arlene home after prom committee meetings, and they talk - usually about the plans for prom, or occasionally a movie, or they’ll just sit together in companionable silence.

Potsie stops trying to set Richie up on blind dates. He still drags Richie to sock hops and dances, not that Richie minds. Arlene doesn’t mind, either. She likes planning dances more than she likes actually going to them, thought she really likes hearing about them from Richie. She’ll ask about the music, the food, if Richie danced with any girls, what they looked like, what they were wearing. Richie describes them the best that he can, and Arlene gets this sad, faraway look in her eyes, like she wants something that she can’t quite put words to.

——

They have their first real argument right before the prom. Practically everyone is there to see it, and as much as it annoys Richie, he’s glad that they have witnesses, that everyone will know that they were together, and they liked each other, and there’s nothing strange about either of them.

He’s sad when they break up, but he’s willing to move on until he’s reminded prom is coming up, and he very well can’t go alone. He’s lucky that Arlene is in the same boat as he is.

——

Richie spends most of the night by the refreshment table. He has three or four cups of punch in the time that it takes Arlene to dance with every guy at the prom, except him. Because apparently, Arlene only disliked parties when she was dating Richie.

He snaps at her, and she snaps back. She keeps dancing, and he just watches, feeling sick to his stomach. An hour before the prom is over, Arlene stops by the punch bowl, sweaty and exhausted. She takes one look at Richie, about to speak, and drags him to the broom closet, explaining on the way “You’re not ruining everyone else’s prom, too.”

“Why do you care so much who I dance with?” Arlene asks once they’re inside.

Richie’s stomach twists as he says “Because -“

_Because I thought we were the same, and I think I was wrong._

Nervousness gives way to anger. “Because you’re my date, alright? And I shouldn’t be your last choice after every other guy.”

He hates how petulant he sounds. He hates lying to her. He hates knowing that if he actually said what he wanted to say she would hate him.

He’s drunk for the second time in his life. It’s not like the first time, when he was giddy and excited up until he got the bedspins. He just feels peevish and sick and jealous - of who, he’s not sure.

Arlene’s face is pink from dancing all night, and probably a little pink from the punch - she hasn’t had as much as Richie but she’s had at least a couple of cups - and her eyes are shining with indignation.

Richie doesn’t think about Fonzie, looking as natural in a tuxedo as he does in leather and ignoring him all night, or Potsie, wearing his brother’s cologne and trying to push Richie and Arlene back together just to make a play for Arlene at the last minute, or even the singer of the band who Richie had thought winked at him during the set, only to realize later that he’d winked at the girl getting punch next to Richie. They aren’t here, and Arlene is, and she’s looking at Richie with a glint in her eye like she’s daring him.

So he kisses her, and she kisses back, and it’s not as awkward as he thought it would be. It doesn’t feel like fireworks, or however it’s supposed to feel when you’re kissing someone, but Arlene is soft and warm in his arms, and Richie doesn’t not like it. Her mouth tastes like the punch, fruity and a little bitter with whatever it was spiked with. Richie supposes that’s fair, because he probably tastes the same way.

The door opens, and Richie and Arlene let go of each other. It’s just Richie’s father, amusement written all over his face as he tells them to get out and dance. He promises to hold the broom closet for them.

Fonzie and his date - Sandy, Richie remembers - are already swaying together, cheek to cheek, and Richie stops looking at them to focus on Arlene, because she’s his date and it’s only fair.

Arlene holds Richie’s hand as they get on the dance floor and start to slow dance.

“Do you want to get back together?” Richie whispers, low enough that none of the other promgoers can hear them. He’s drunk enough that this seems like a good idea.

Arlene rests her head on Richie’s shoulder. “Don’t ask me that now. Please. I just want to have a nice time at my prom.”


	11. Secretly (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it’s a very, very good thing Richie’s friends are oblivious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime nebulously in season 5, albeit one where Richie isn’t involved with Lori Beth.

Richie ultimately decided against wearing a scarf that day. It was unseasonably warm for this early in spring, so a scarf or even a turtleneck would just raise more questions.

Instead, he just popped the collar of his shirt. It looked silly, and it didn’t entirely hide the bite mark on his neck, or the hickey next to it that had been sucked into his skin as an apology, but it was better than nothing. His parents didn’t say anything at breakfast, though they exchanged slightly embarrassed looks, and Joanie just grinned knowingly at him before she left for school.

Richie attracted a few stares and at least one appreciative whistle in and between classes that day, but nobody pressed him until he met up with Potsie and Ralph at Arnold’s after class.

“So what’s her name?” Potsie asked as soon as he slid into the booth.

“And does she have a sister?” Ralph added with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

Richie wouldn’t say he panicked, exactly - he just went with the first thing he could think of. “Oh, uh - a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, come on, Rich! We’re your friends!” Potsie protested.

“I think I know who it is,” Ralph said. “Linda, from Delta Gamma! The one with the sweaters that are too tight.”

“I’ve never said a word to Linda,” Richie pointed out.

“Because her mouth was too busy?” Ralph said as he poked the hickey.

Richie swatted away Ralph’s hand. “It’s not Linda.”

“Give us a hint, at least,” Potsie practically begged. “Is she in Delta Gamma? Any of the other sororities? Does she go to a different college?”

“He’s not gonna crack,” Ralph said. “We might have to bring in the big guns.”

He turned around and shouted “Hey, Fonzie!”

From his position at the pinball machine, Fonzie turned and sauntered towards their booth, not even bothering to sit down.

“Who’s Richie’s secret girlfriend?”

Fonzie didn’t seem particularly interested in Ralph’s question. He leaned over and cupped Richie’s neck, lightly running a thumb over the marks. Richie bit his lip to stop himself from making any embarrassing noises in front of Potsie and Ralph, and only succeeded in biting down right as Fonzie pressed down on the hickey.

Fonzie stood back up, looking entirely too satisfied with himself, before he turned and walked back to the pinball machine, hitting it once to start it.

“What’s with him?” Potsie wondered.

“No idea,” Richie said weakly as he rubbed the spot that Fonzie had just touched.

——

It wasn’t until later, when they were up in Fonzie’s room, that Fonzie brought it up.

“You’re mad at me.”

“Of course I’m not mad at you, I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous about what? Ralph catching on? _Potsie_ catching on?”

“Yes.” Richie scratched the back of his head. “Maybe it’s silly. But if they ever do find out, I want it to be because I - because we tell them.”

He folded his hands. Fonzie wasn’t saying anything, which probably meant he did think Richie was being ridiculous about this whole thing, and maybe he was. Maybe there was nothing to be worried about.

Fonzie lightly nudged Richie’s shoulder with his own. “Hey. Sorry.”

He took Richie by the wrist. “Make it up to you?”

Richie grinned lazily. “What did you have in mind?”

Fonzie draped himself over Richie and lightly scraped his teeth over still-sensitive skin on his neck. Richie shivered in response.

“Just, ah, don’t leave any marks where anyone can see.”


	12. It’s Late (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overnight at a motel, Joanie can’t sleep. Neither can Leather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate universe where after “Fonzie and Leather Tuscadero,” Joanie does go on tour with Leather as one of the Suedes, with her family’s blessing.

If Joanie had to say what the worst part of touring would be, there was only one real answer: staring at the ceiling of a motel room just outside of San Francisco, trying to tune out Bertie’s snoring and desperately trying to fall asleep.

It wasn’t even that she wasn’t tired. She’d been raring to go from start to finish at the show, but once they were done she couldn’t wait to get back to the motel and go to bed.

And now that she was in bed, and her body had more or less shut down, her brain just wouldn’t stop.

She’d been early on two of her cues that day. Leather had to have noticed. Bertie had noticed, and it had thrown her off for the rest of the show.

If Leather had noticed, then she knew Joanie wasn’t cut out for this, that she never should have asked Joanie to join the Suedes. Maybe tomorrow she was going to do that, just tell Joanie to get a plane ticket home and go and pretend this whole thing had never happened, and Joanie wouldn’t get to experience the exhilaration of performing for God knew how long.

For once, Joanie was grateful when Bertie let out a particularly loud snore, thoroughly derailing her train of thought.

She sat up, groggy and miserable, rubbing at her eyes. Bertie was sleeping flat on her back, sawing logs. The bed in the middle was empty, the sheets as perfect as they were when they got the room. Had Leather gone to bed at all? Where was she?

Just outside, she could hear someone playing guitar. Nothing fancy, just a few chords over and over, but slightly different every time.

Joanie got up and looked out the window. Just in front of the motel sign where only half the letters worked sat Leather, guitar slung around her neck. Every so often, she stopped playing to scribble something down on a sheet of paper.

She was busy. She probably wouldn’t want to be interrupted. Or maybe she would.

Joanie pulled on her robe and left her room. It didn’t take her long to get down; by the time she did, Leather was drumming her fingers against the guitar, deep in thought.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Leather looked up, startled. “I - no. Did I wake you up?”

“No, Bertie did that. Or she would have, if I had actually fallen asleep.”

Leather scooted over a little and patted the spot on the ground next to her. “C’mon. I could use the company.”

Joanie sat down next to Leather, legs crossed.  
Leather strummed the guitar experimentally, quietly humming to herself.

“It sounds nice,” Joanie said. “You just come up with it?”

“It’s “Heartbreak Hotel.””

Joanie nodded, flushing slightly. “Well. It sounds nice when you play it.”

Leather laughed a little. “You couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah,” Joanie admitted. “It’s embarrassing. I leave home for the first time and suddenly I’m an insomniac.”

She realized a moment too late how that sounded, and quickly added “And it’s not even really the first time. I’ve been on sleepovers before. I’ve gone to sleep away camp.”

“Sometimes you just have to get into the rhythm of things,” Leather offered. “My first night in juvie, I couldn’t sleep at all. I just kept thinking about whether my folks were worried about me, or ashamed of me, or anything like that.”

“Were they?”

“No,” Leather said. She didn’t follow up on it, and Joanie briefly considered, then decided against asking about it.

“What about Pinky?”

“She’d already left by then. I got letters now and then, but I only saw her in person a couple times.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She got out when she could and she made something of herself. She proved she could do it. That maybe I could too. I owe her for that.”

“Do you ever miss her?”

“I still get letters from her, sometimes, but - that’s not really the same thing. She’s probably a completely different person by now, and so am I, and if we met we probably wouldn’t have anything to say to each other.” She tapped the side of her guitar. “You miss Richie and Fonzie and your folks?”

Joanie froze up.

“It’s alright if you do,” Leather said.

“I’m not sorry I came, alright? I like this. I like singing and being in front of crowds.”

“But you still miss ‘em.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Hey, I met your folks, and they’re pretty great. If you didn’t miss ‘em, I’d think there was something wrong with you.”

She lightly jostled Joanie’s arm with her elbow.  
“You really should go back to bed, though. You’re gonna need it.”

“And you aren’t?”

Leather didn’t have an answer for that.

Joanie stood up. “Tell you what. I’ll go back to bed if you do. You’re the frontwoman. Everyone’s gonna notice if you pass out from exhaustion.”

Leather laughed as she stood up. After slinging her guitar back over her shoulder, she followed Joanie back inside, their shoulders bumping together as they walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote this and posted it as the fifth chapter, it was meant to be pre-femslash fluff and ended with them holding hands. Then I found out that Suzi Quatro was 28 during season 5 while Erin Moran was still a teenager, and that made me feel weird about shipping them romantically even if the characters were only supposed to be three years apart, so I stopped. I tweaked it to be set later when Joanie is older, then decided to just delete the chapter. Anyway, I re-tweaked it to be fully platonic, because I do like the idea of Joanie and Leather as friends and Joanie as a Suede. I’m sorry for the first version, I never would have shipped them romantically if I had actually thought to look up the actors’ ages.


	13. Paddi-Whack (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fellas, is it gay to listen to your roommate jerk off in the middle of the night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after Potsie and Ralph become roommates in season 5.

Ralph was an easy sleeper, usually. He could lie down and be out like a light, whether he was on a bed or at a desk or on a crappy discount mattress. It was probably the only reason he hadn’t left the apartment yet. Sure, the food and the laundry and the heat and the neighbors are terrible, but at the end of the day, Ralph could always rely on a good night’s sleep so he could wake up and be disappointed by everything else all over again.

He probably could have slept through the whole thing if he hadn’t had to get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

He didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary until he got back in bed. He was facing away from Potsie’s bed, but he was close enough to hear bedsprings quietly squeaking every few seconds and weirdly labored breathing.

It probably wouldn’t have stopped Ralph from going to sleep. He’d slept through the sound of tap dancing upstairs. This was practically nothing.  
But if Potsie is doing what Ralph thinks he’s doing, then Ralph can’t just go to sleep. It’s a matter of principle.

It’s not that Ralph minds that Potsie is doing it. Ralph’s a red-blooded American male, too. He has urges, too, but he takes care of them when he’s alone, not when his roommate is in the same room, because he’s a decent human being and a decent roommate, and there are things you don’t do when someone else is in the room.

“Potsie,” Ralph called out, very pointedly staying on his side and not looking at Potsie. (Though based on the noises he’s making, he’s got to be moving around a lot.)

When that didn’t get Potsie’s attention, Ralph said “Potsie!” again, more urgently this time.

The noises stopped.

“I thought you were asleep,” Potsie whispered through heavy breaths.

“Well I’m not. So stop it.”

“I just got started. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I - ?”

Ralph cut him off because he really did not want to hear it. “I don’t care. Just don’t do it when I’m in the same room.”

That should have been the end of that, and Ralph would have drifted off to sleep and forgot this whole thing ever happened, except that Potsie did not stop.

“I said quit it,” Ralph snapped.

“It’s my apartment too,” Potsie protested. “I have just as much right to do this here as you do.”

“I haven’t had a date just as long as you, but unlike you, I have some standards of decency.”

“Well what am I supposed to do? Go into the hallway?”

“Go take a cold shower!“

“The water heater’s been broken for almost a month! I’ve been taking nothing but cold showers!”

“Then you won’t mind taking another one right now.”

“It’s two in the morning,” Potsie said. He stumbled on “morning,” sort of yelping it out.

“You’re still at it?” Ralph demanded. “Have you been doing it the whole time we were talking? You don’t do that during a conversation!”

“You -“ Another groan. “You want me to stop so bad, come over here and make me.”

Ralph did not do that, because it was one thing to acknowledge that this was happening at all, and another thing entirely to actually - get involved. He never should have said anything in the first place, he should have just kept his mouth shut and gone to sleep, so that’s what he tried to do now. He hummed “Splish Splash” to block out Potsie. It didn’t really work, because if anything Potsie’s groans became more rhythmic. For a guy in the middle of a dry spell, Ralph had to admit he had stamina.

Potsie made one last gasp, lower than the others, and then the apartment was finally silent, except for the sound of his breathing slowly going back to normal.

“You’re doing laundry this week,” Ralph said. Potsie answered him with a snore.


End file.
